


see how fast the summer passes by

by somethingdifferent



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, Ficlet, Friends to Lovers, No Dialogue, Roommates, i can’t write rn so here have my dumb writing exercise, title from swallow song by vashti bunyan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25721005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingdifferent/pseuds/somethingdifferent
Summary: His arms wrap around her, tight.They’ve known each other for years. Rey wonders, for the first time, how long he’s wanted to do that.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 29
Kudos: 360





	see how fast the summer passes by

**Author's Note:**

> i can’t write right now, so this is more of an exercise than anything else. i’m hoping my block will end soon!! in the meanwhile, enjoy this soft sleepiness

Let me be your morning treat with your coffee.

** JENNY SLATE **

It's a hot summer.

Rey breaks down in late June, lets Ben turn on the eternally creaking air conditioning, on the condition that he fronts the whole cost of the electricity. It's not that much extra money, he had argued at the beginning of summer, and it would make their lives a lot easier. That's his reasoning about everything: it's only money. You can't take it with you.

Ben is sort of unbearable in that way sometimes.

But Rey lets it go. She lets him turn on the AC, because it makes him happy to make her life easier. It's the only thing that could ever make her take his charity like that.

Sometimes it feels like making him happy is the same as making herself happy.

His apartment is two bedrooms. It has an in-unit washer and dryer, a dishwasher, copious closet space. When Finn came over, right after she first moved in, he had whistled low and glanced intentionally around, eyebrow cocking.

As if to say: so this is how the other half lives.

Like she is _the other half_ now.

Rey takes to spending her afternoons at the complex pool. She brings books that she’s been meaning to read—Alice Munro, Junot Diaz, Zadie Smith—and stretches out her sore limbs on the beach chairs lining the edge of the water, sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

New freckles have begun to sprout over her cheeks from all the time she spends in the sun. When Ben notices, he brushes his thumb over the apple of her cheek, as if checking to see if they’re real.

Rey steps away, her lower back hitting the jut of the kitchen counter. Her hands curl around the marble, knuckles white.

His eyes lower. His voice is low, a rumbling murmur when he apologizes.

He goes back to cooking dinner.

It takes Rey a minute to find her voice and even longer to remember where their conversation left off.

Both of them pretend like nothing happened, and she is just fine with that.

  
  
  
  


The air conditioner whirs. The heel of her palm is pressed between her legs; she rocks into it, her knees sinking into the too-soft mattress.

It was so humid when she was outside, but it’s cold in the apartment. Ben runs hot, he told her once, so he needs the chill.

Her nipples stiffen into tight peaks when she comes. It isn’t strong; just a slow, rolling current of feeling. As tired and slow as she feels, as she has been feeling for the past few months.

Her mouth opens, but she doesn’t make a single sound. 

  
  
  
  


She usually wakes up before he does. Force of habit, she supposes. She sits with her knees tucked into her chest on the seat by the window sill, a little spot draped in sunlight. She drinks coffee and watches the sun get higher and higher in the sky.

The first time she sleeps until noon is in the middle of July. Rey wakes to the full, yellow light of the sun slanting in through the curtains and bursts into tears.

  
  
  
  


Ben kisses her one night, just outside of her bedroom. It isn’t a mistake, like he only just missed her cheek.

It’s late, and they’re both tired. Rey feels the kind of pleasant sleepy that comes after a day spent doing nothing. The television is still going, rolling the credits for some movie he wanted to watch, one she’d teased him about for being Oscar bait.

Her hand is on the doorknob. Her spine is curved, draped against the wood. She’s smiling.

He kisses her goodnight, his fingers tucked under her chin, thumb stroking a soothing pattern on her jaw.

She kisses him back, but she can’t tell if it’s because he’s already kissing her or if it’s because she wanted to.

But it’s nice.

His mouth is warm, soft. Full. He slides his tongue between her teeth; he tastes like the beer he had an hour ago.

When he pulls away, his eyes are quiet and dark.

He turns around and goes back to his room without a word.

  
  
  
  


It isn’t the last time it happens.

Rey walks past him on the way to the pool, smiling softly while he stands in the kitchen with his hair sticking up in every direction, his hand holding onto his coffee like a lifeline. He kisses her before she goes, a quick peck on the lips. Rey can’t focus on the words on the page when she reads the whole afternoon; she dives under the water and thinks she can still feel the press of his lips, even in the cold.

Another time: she’s trying to make eggs in the morning. Ben taught her how to boil them when they were in college: soft, medium, hard. He likes his soft-boiled, with slices of toast he calls soldiers. He keeps a row of egg cups lined up on the counter, like decorations with a function. When Ben gets up, he joins her in the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Rey turns to him, about to announce that she is pretty sure she let the eggs go in the water too long and they are probably at least medium-boiled by now, and he kisses her before she can say a single word.

The eggs are overdone, but he doesn’t mind.

And there is the time after Finn and Poe go over to the apartment, when they are both by the front door, waving goodbye. Ben turns to her, but she is already there, already there and waiting. She presses her body against his and sighs into his mouth.

His arms wrap around her, tight.

They’ve known each other for years. Rey wonders, for the first time, how long he’s wanted to do that.

  
  
  
  


In her bed, Rey slips her hand between her legs. She thinks: Ben.

Something in her gut tightens, hot and coiled.

She comes with a hoarse cry, the sound muffled by her palm.

  
  
  
  


Rey is laying on the couch in the living room, one leg draped over the edge. She swings it slowly, back and forth, her foot skimming over the hardwood floor. The television is on, playing something she’s not entirely paying attention to. It’s mindless. It’s putting her to sleep.

Ben sits beside her on the couch, lifting her knee up to drape over his thigh.

He tucks his hand between her legs, tracing his finger over her leggings. Rey shifts, spreading her thighs open wider.

She feels drowsy. His fingers are unhurried, almost lazy in their movements. He peels her leggings off, her underwear with it.

He hisses when he sinks his middle finger inside her. His grip tightens on the back of her knee, making little indents in the shape of his nails.

He brings her off like that, with the sound of the television in front of them, and the sun slanting through the blinds.

He kisses her after, and then he gets up to make dinner.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
